


Where the Meadows Used to Be

by readymachine



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison's Birthday, Angst, Comfort, Hurt, Post-Allison's Death, Pre-Season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 03:13:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5031550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readymachine/pseuds/readymachine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To Lydia, this was loss: dimples you could drown in and soft ivory skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the Meadows Used to Be

Kissing Jackson was always a war. It was bared teeth knocking into each other and hands battling for dominance that were too rough. Everything was a power play and they both knew it. Sex was no different. He would leave ugly bruises down her thighs and she would draw blood on the small of his back and they would laugh as they did it. To Lydia, this was love: swollen smiles and long-raging fires smoldering in their eyes.

 

It takes her a week after Jackson leaves for London to decide that love is a weakness and Lydia Martin is _not_ weak so she puts on her make up and hardens her heart and that’s that. The guys she slept with that summer are always beneath her (figuratively and literally) and Lydia made damn sure that they knew it before she throws them away. To Lydia, this was _real_ power: to be adored, but to not let anyone in.

 

Aiden stuck around longer than most and Lydia let him because she loved the way she felt absolutely nothing when she kissed him and how perfectly his calloused hands cupped her ass. But now he was dead and buried on the preserve and even though she’d promised Ethan that she would visit the grave every month she’d only done it twice. She missed him occasionally ( _because not all monsters do monstrous things_ ), but it’s nothing compared to the constant ache in her chest left in the wake of Allison Argent. To Lydia, this was loss: dimples you could drown in and soft ivory skin.

 

She had kissed Allison once, by accident. It was after the Kanima, before Jennifer had rolled into town and ruined everything. She had leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek to say goodbye because Allison was leaving for France for the summer, but Allison had turned her head and their lips had connected before they were aware of what was happening. They lingered for a second too long (long enough for a warmth to spread through Lydia’s chest and down to her toes) and Allison had smiled wide enough to stop the world and they hadn’t spoken anything else about it. Lydia missed everything about Allison, missed her laughter and her kindness and how she always knew what to say to make Lydia feel…Well. To make Lydia _feel_. But now Allison was dead and buried in the cemetery on Oak Street wearing the silver arrowhead earrings that Lydia had bought her for her last birthday (her _last_ birthday) and no matter how hard Lydia strains she can’t find Allison’s voice inside of her head and maybe that’s why she hasn’t gotten out of bed today.

 

When her window slides open and Scott McCall climbs in, Lydia wills herself into a sitting position. The sun is setting, casting long shadows over her room. His features are illuminated strangely, his skin glowing golden-bronze in the light while his eyes are hidden in darkness. He stands awkwardly, his gaze boring into her as he speaks.

 

“You didn’t answer your phone,” He says lamely. Lydia’s eyes trail to her nightstand, where her phone lies facedown. It’s been buzzing all day but Lydia hasn’t been able to bring herself to look at it. She looks back to Scott and gives a half-hearted shrug paired with an eye roll as a response.

 

“I was worried about you,” He continues, his voice earnest. Lydia ignores how her heart skips when he says _I_ instead of _we_ because she knows that _they_ don’t worry about her anymore, only Scott does (only sometimes). Her mind drifts briefly to the moment in the boys locker room when time stood still as she stole a boy’s breath and entire nebulas burst inside of her but she just as quickly shoves it out of her mind because it doesn’t matter how she feels anymore—those days are dead. She hardens her face in a practiced move and straightens her back.

 

“Sorry to have been a bother,” Lydia clips, pressing her lips together. She wants to be mean to him, just a little, but not enough to make him leave. She’s been aching for someone to talk to for months now but Malia didn’t know Allison and Kira didn’t _really_ know Allison and Scott’s been busy with Liam and Stiles hasn’t looked her in the eye since Eichen House. Scott hesitates, his expression softening, then he moves towards the bed and sits on the edge. His hands are pressed together so tightly between his knees that his knuckles have turned white.

 

“I know why you didn’t come to school today,” He says. His voice is soft, but firm. Something like a scream builds up in Lydia’s throat, but she shoves it down. “Honestly, I almost didn’t show up either.”

 

He picks his head up and looks at her from underneath a heavy brow. Lydia averts her gaze to his shoulder. She isn’t sure she can look him in the eyes when she says it.

 

“This time last year we watched _27 Dresses_ and ate gummi worms because that’s all she wanted to do for her birthday and four months ago we put her in the ground and no one’s talked about it since.”

 

She winces in the ringing silence. Scott exhales, long and shaky. He sets his palms flat on his thighs, smoothing the denim down slowly.

 

“It’s not…” Scott starts, then pauses. His jaw clenches as he tries to find the right words. “We haven’t had _time_.”

 

His voice cracks on the last syllable. He keeps his eyes on the floor.

 

Lydia laughs once, a harsh shout that rips its way out of her.

 

“You’re a shitty liar, Scott McCall,” She says, injecting enough venom into her voice to make him whip his head around to look at her. He’s hurt. She can tell. A shining red line of pleasure slashes through her chest.

 

“We’ve had _plenty_ of time to talk about it, Scott,” Lydia continues. She tries to keep her voice strong, tries to keep her heartbeat steady despite the tears blurring her image of Scott and the pain in his eyes. “You just didn’t want to. No one _wants_ to. _I_ don’t _want_ to, okay? I don’t _want_ to talk about how I _felt_ her die, I don’t _want_ to talk about how she died trying to _save_ me, but I have to, Scott. I have to talk about her, I can’t just keep pretending that she wasn’t—that she didn’t—“

 

But Lydia can’t form words around the terrible knot that’s crawled up from her heart to lodge in her throat so she stops and presses her hand against her mouth. Scott raises his hands like he wants to move towards her, but he stops himself, his face contorted. Lydia shakes her head and throws herself back down on her bed, curling up on her side with her back to Scott.

 

“Just leave,” She says icily.

 

 _But please don’t leave_.

 

Instead, the bed shifts and she feels Scott slot into the space behind her. He snakes a hand over her stomach and pulls her close, her back flush against his warm chest. Lydia reaches up and tangles her fingers in his, shaking from the force of the grief erupting from inside of her. He dips his head and presses his nose against the curve of her shoulder as Lydia tries to quiet her sobs.

 

“I still remember her first birthday here,” Scott says, his voice muffled by her shirt.  The look on her face when she opened her locker and all of those balloons came out. And we went down to the preserve and we spent the day just…just _with_ each other. And things were so _easy_ back then.”

 

Lydia draws in a long breath. She misses the way Allison’s legs felt tangled up in hers when they slept next to each other during their weekly sleepovers, her cold toes pressed against the sensitive skin behind Lydia’s knee. Or the way her eyes glittered in the lights of her dashboard when they went driving at night with no destination in mind. Or the beautiful pink blush that crept into her cheeks every time she talked about Scott McCall.

 

“She loved you, Scott. Even after everything, she loved you so much.”

 

Scott’s arm around her stiffens and he buries his face deeper into her shoulder. When’s the last time someone held her like this? When’s the last time someone held her at all? She tightens her grip on Scott’s hand and lets the tears slip across the bridge of her nose to fall on her pillow.

 

She must fall asleep at some point. When she wakes up the room is dark. Scott is still behind her, breathing deep and evenly into her hair. It feels like she hasn’t slept that well in months. Probably because she knows she hasn’t. She’s briefly thinks about trying to disentangle herself from Scott, but it’s so nice here and he’s so warm…

 

She feels a familiar twitch in the back of her mind. Something that reminds her of dimples she could drown in and soft ivory skin. Lydia squeezes her eyes shut, her ears straining and her heart pounding. When she finally hears the voice she’s been waiting to hear, it’s like returning home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> readymachine.tumblr.com


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